


Growing Flowers for the Sunrise

by LadyHallen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chronic Pain, Don't repost, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Herbology, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, Magical Bullshit, Magizoology, One-Shot, Pain, Sickfic, Treehouses, Various and assorted Weasley's, do not copy to another site, magical theories, prepare tissues, talks about death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:54:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26741707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyHallen/pseuds/LadyHallen
Summary: No one had actually fulfilled a prophecy in a few decades, but each and every one of those who fulfilled it died in a couple of days. Her theory was that something was given to each person at the end of those prophecies.It said something about Harry’s pain threshold given that he had survived for two months in constant pain.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood & Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom & Harry Potter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 163





	Growing Flowers for the Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> Picture this as you read: Harry walks around, and flowers and plants sprout in his wake

Harry woke to pain.

He didn’t scream, but took a deep stabilizing breath. He was used to the lightning slivers that seemed to live in his veins. But whenever he was doing nothing, it seemed to intensify until sleeping was the last thing in his mind. Muggle medicine was a good friend to him these days.

Another breath and Harry finally placed his feet on the floor, moving through the shivery cold that intensified with every step.

Moping would get nothing done and he was absolutely tired of lying in bed - in pain - all day.

“Winky,” he called. “Breakfast.”

The house-elf popped in, took one look at his face, and popped back out. Breakfast involved a lot of healthy food, along with Willow Bark Tea that he was starting to taste in his dreams.

“Agenda for today?” he asked his frustrated healer.

Daphne Greengrass huffed irritably, hands moving gently along his shoulders and testing his muscles with wandless magic. “Nothing too strenuous. You’re too tired from the last treatment, but Granger’s theory is actually bearing fruit.”

That was very concerning. Harry would have cried if he wasn’t so tired of being in pain.

“That I have too much magic?” he asked. “It needs to get out?”

Daphne nodded, prodding at his collarbone and his ribs with gentle fingers. “I have no idea what magic was going on while you were dueling with You-Know-Who, Potter. But you are practically bursting from it. You need to let it out.”

.

* * *

.

Hermione’s theory was the Theory of Conquest. No one had actually fulfilled a prophecy in a few decades, but each and every one of those who fulfilled it died in a couple of days. Her theory was that something was given to each person at the end of those prophecies.

It said something about Harry’s pain threshold given that he had survived for two months in constant pain.

Magic being the obvious choice was hindsight.

How to expend magic faster than it replenished was the problem.

Annoyingly enough, that was a problem unique to him.

.

* * *

.

The Department of Mysteries had a love-hate relationship with Harry.

Oh, they loved him for the challenge he presented, of helping an international hero stay alive and all the troubles that came with it.

They also hated him every time a suggested solution was rejected.

It would be hilarious if he wasn’t dying slowly with too much magic. Harry’s humor had developed a sort of morbid cast to it that made Hermione uncomfortable and Ron smirk unwillingly.

The solutions presented were weird though, ranging from a magic siphoning lotion, to a generator-like machine that needed magic to run.

The latter was the closest thing to a solution Harry had ever had and he actually spent the whole day lounging on the machine, having his magic sucked off and feeling more relaxed in months. (It didn’t last, the machine overloaded with too much magic. The inventor didn’t account for what would happen to all the magic after it got sucked off.)

They still used the MagGen when he had a particularly bad day, with Hermione on the team that modified it and made it better each time, it went from only one day use to a three day use.

Harry hoped Hermione would find a portable solution soon, because being attached to the hip to the MagGen was great, but he wanted to be able to go to Diagon Alley without feeling a thousand needles lodging in his feet every step he took.

.

* * *

.

Harry woke to the scent of flowers.

“Neville? What time is it?” he mumbled blearily.

Neville helped Harry sit up, the scent of damp earth and various green things clinging to him intensified for a moment.

“Just past lunch,” Neville answered. He patted Harry on the shoulder gently and presented his potted flower, along with a floating tray of food.

“I thought belladonna’s were poisonous?” he asked. The berries on the potted plant were the distinctive ones of _atropa belladonna_. The color was memorable.

Neville tucked the edges of the blanket around him better. “If you use too much, then it’s poisonous. It’s actually medicinal.”

Harry tried to wriggle free and gave up under a minute. “Neville, I need to eat. I need my hands to eat.”

The herbologist ignored him, grabbing the floating tray and looking, for all intents and purposes, like he was going to spoon-feed Harry.

“Neville, no!” Harry said, renewing his struggle against his blankets and succeeding in getting an arm free. “I’ll eat, I’ll eat.”

Harry ignored Neville’s self-satisfied smirk to at least retain a semblance of dignity. The herbologist was very good at wrestling misbehaving plants and it seemed to apply to ill wizards too.

.

The answer came to everyone when Harry woke up to his bedside covered in a riot of flowers, having slept a full eight hours without pain.

The only thing different was the belladonna that Neville had left on his table and it had gone through an accelerated growth overnight.

.

“Of course!” Hermione exclaimed, examining the plant. Whatever feedback she was getting was making her so excited that her hair was forming a cloud around her.

“Plants absorb magic from wizards and emit clean magic. They’re part of the reason why the greenhouse effect hasn’t actually killed off everyone, you know?” Hermione said, expression rapt as she stared at the belladonna. “Magical plants work, but I think it would work better with non-magical plants as well.”

Plants were his answer.

Harry called his lawyers and Neville Longbottom immediately.

.

Harry bought an entire mountain and commissioned Neville to help him.

They took long walks around the mountain as Harry’s strength started to return and he got more and more optimistic. He got very good at making hammocks as he spontaneously slept _and did not feel any pain._

It was amazing and Neville’s smiles were golden as he did his best to harvest plants so that Harry could have space to do his crazy magical plant growth.

Herbology was a very specific trade and soon, they had enough profit to sell the magical plants to the wizarding world and the mundane plants to the muggle world. Neville had teams and shifts to work the mountain overnight.

Harry’s magic expanded but at the same time, the plants absorbed enough of the replenished magic that Harry felt safe holding his own Holly wand. It didn’t felt like a single spell would tear it apart and Harry actually cried holding the familiar wood.

“Of course,” Hermione said after two weeks of careful observation. “This isn’t a permanent solution. You are not stuck in your mountain, Harry. I’m working with Saint Mungo’s for a temporary pill suppressant? It would allow you to leave your mountain for three days.”

“I don’t actually find it bad?” Harry volunteered. Daphne huffed as he moved his shoulders. With an apologetic shrug, he went still as she poked him with her wand again. “I mean, I might need to build a house here eventually. I can’t sleep on hammocks forever.”

“You’ve been sleeping outdoors in hammocks!!!” Hermione shrieked. “You’re going to catch a cold and die! I’ve not been working my arse off just for you to die of a cold!”

Harry cringed but listened to the lecture with a smile. Hermione hadn’t felt comfortable saying the d-word near him. That she could meant that she must have felt better.

Before both witches could leave, Harry caught her hand and said, “Hermione. Thank you.”

Thank you seemed too small of a word to encompass everything she’d done for him. But Hermione understood.

Hermione teared up. “Oh, Harry. You’re welcome.”

.

* * *

.

Ron visited whenever he could spare time from the jokeshop.

Harry, who knew how insanely busy the jokeshop could get, was just grateful that Ron could spare him two hours.

“It’s still crazy that you own a mountain now, mate,” Ron said. The stress lines in his face had faded away when he saw Harry stand up and walk to him without a cane. “I mean, wasn’t it crazy expensive?”

“Well,” Harry mused. Fame was no longer a sore point for Ron, being a sort of war hero himself. But money… ”Remember during the war when we found those horcruxes in the items from the founders? Well, turns out, most of them were goblin made and the goblins were grateful to have them back.”

Ron looked _concerned_. “Harry. Didn’t we destroy Gringotts and let loose their guardian dragon? And weren’t those items destroyed beyond repair?”

Harry smiled. “Well. It turns out; it’s not the item that’s important, but the metal. Goblin metal is incredibly valuable and I just gave them three pieces full of it.”

“Hence, the mountain,” Ron said, nodding.

“Hence, the mountain,” Harry agreed. “And that I and all my descendants would stay as far away as possible from Gringotts.”

They walked a couple more feet and Ron looked up at the crazy height that the trees were reaching.

“Where are you living, mate? Mum did ask me and I don’t see a house,” Ron asked. “Not outdoors? Camping is all well and good, but I’d have thought you’d be done with it after what happened.”

Harry remembered Hermione’s shriek of outrage and shuddered involuntarily. “Nah. I’m talking to the architects and the herbologists about making a tree house.”

Ron smiled. “That sounds crazy. On these trees?” he gestured to the absolutely humongous trees that had sprung up after Harry settled in the mountain. “Wouldn’t they keep growing?”

“Ah, no,” Harry rummaged through his trousers for a piece of parchment and a quill. He flattened them on a flat rock and sketched out the idea. “What I was thinking was this. I’d take five trees, hollow out the insides some, the central one would have a hidden staircase and then I’d just have a bunch of houses up there in the five different trees, but they’re actually different parts of the house.”

Ron laughed a little. “That’s crazy. It sounds like you. That house sounds big, Harry.”

Harry’s smile didn’t die, but only because he pasted it on through sheer force of will. “Well, you’re gonna visit, aren’t you? You and Hermione?”

“Of course I will!” Ron exclaimed. His watch chimed an alarm. “Ah, shit. I have to go back to London. Your place is great, and you look better, Harry. I’ll tell mum so she can stop worrying about you.”

They embraced, Ron left and Harry sat on his rock and cried.

.

* * *

.

Neville had become a sort of therapist to Harry, which probably wasn’t healthy because Neville wasn’t a licensed therapist and Harry’s issues needed an entire team of them to deal.

Still, the herbologist, who had accidentally found the solution to saving Harry’s life, didn’t complain and visited every time he could spare.

“I feel like I’m going to die,” Harry confessed to his friend. “And I’m just here on borrowed time.”

“Harry,” Neville said quietly. “Is the pain back?”

Harry munched at the muffins and swallowed, feeling like he was eating concrete. “No. But, I can feel it at the back of my mind. It’s there. It’s waiting for me to slip up. To make a mistake. And it’s going to be back, harder, stronger and more painful than ever. That…this relief is temporary.”

Neville looked pained. “You’re not getting better, are you?” he whispered.

Harry set down the muffin and clasped his hands, wishing, idly, for tea or something stronger. “It’s been months, Nev. How much magic did Voldemort have? How much magic do I have? It’s not good for one body to hold two people’s magic. It’s just…not possible.”

“You will stabilize,” Neville whispered. He got up, rounded the little table, and engulfed Harry in a hug. “I’ll not stop. Me and Hermione, we’re working on it.”

Harry clung to his dearest friend and swallowed his sobs. He wouldn’t cry. If he did, he would never stop.

.

* * *

.

Luna, who had fled the country as soon as the war was over, hadn’t seen Harry since that fateful day in Hogwarts. She returned after a furious letter exchange with her father and visited Harry immediately afterwards.

Her protuberant eyes grew even wider when she saw him.

“Oh, Harry,” Luna whispered. “You’re…”

She hugged him.

Harry felt the tears stuck in his throat struggle to get out. He swallowed them down and hugged her back.

“You look great, Luna,” he told her sincerely.

Her dirty blonde hair had darkened to burnished gold under intense sunlight in the African desert and her skin was smattered with freckles and cheeks were sunburned. She looked alive.

“You look tired,” Luna said. “But you are standing upright. Tell me everything.”

Harry absolutely didn’t want to, but Luna, like Neville, was one of those people used to wrangling difficult things. Magical plants for Neville and magical animals for Luna. This translated well for Harry.

“Ah, it’s been a difficult few months, Luna,” he told her with a smile. “It’s nice to be able to see you.”

Her pale fingers tightened around his. “And it is nice to see you. Would you like some tea? I found some really nice herbal blends in Africa.”

Helplessly, Harry allowed her to feed him truly terrible herbal tea, until he cracked and told her everything just to stop the tea.

“You have too much magic,” Luna mutters. “It’s not that simple. You have incompatible surplus of magic.”

That’s the first time Harry had ever heard that about his condition. It was also the first time he had felt that much hope.

“Do you want to talk to Hermione?” he asked her.

Luna made a face. “Ah. For you, I will.”

Harry remembered belatedly that Luna and Hermione didn’t get along very well regarding magical theory even if both of them would kill for the other.

“I cannot ask for better friends,” Harry said, kissing her forehead gently.

Luna beamed.

.

* * *

.

Even with four people working on it, Harry didn’t get better. But he didn’t get worst either.

“We’ve stabilized it,” Neville told Harry. “You’re alright, Harry. You’re alright.”

It didn’t seem to sink in, until a year later, when Harry was cooking for a small group of his friends, who had their own guestrooms in his treehouse and he didn’t feel that bone deep pain hiding. That he hadn’t been feeling that pain for a while.

Harry dropped the spatula and had to grab the kitchen counter in a hurry.

“Harry!” Ron cried out, getting out of his chair and running to him. “What hurts?” he asked.

Hermione and George rushed in a beat later, wands out and alert. Neville looked terrible. Ginny’s hands were over her mouth.

“I’m alright. I’m fine,” he gasped. “I just realized. I’m happy.”

They all crowded around him and gave hugs and pats. Harry choked on tears.

“It’s alright,” he hiccupped.

“You are,” Hermione soothed. “You are.”

“I’m alive,” he said, almost a question.

“You are,” Ron said, hands on Harry’s shoulders. “You’re alive.”

It took a while but finally, Harry believed that he was.

**Author's Note:**

> Serious Note: I am very sorry for any person who has Chronic Pain who feels insulted by what I wrote. If there's anything I can change about it, please tell me and I'll do my best. This is my first time to try and represent people who have pain all their lives. While I suffer from constant back pain, I am aware that severe chronic pain is a different pie entirely.
> 
> Not so Serious Note: I would be very glad for some feedback from this! I wrote this years ago, moved to a different PC, opened the old one this week and found a veritable mine of old fics unposted and unfinished!
> 
> Crack note: Don't @ me in the comments! I did warn you about tissues!


End file.
